


Bedroom Hymns

by radio_chatter



Series: The Archives [2]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Reposted Work, Romance, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radio_chatter/pseuds/radio_chatter
Summary: Reyes kisses him, and he’s drowning. At least, that’s what it feels like in these first moments of drunken euphoria – tongues tangling together as greedy hands pull on clothing and blindly seek out skin – and Scott’s lost in it. He’s lost inReyes.(Slightly) Rewritten edition.





	Bedroom Hymns

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is messy and convoluted and the entire thing was written while listening to Florence + the Machine's song Bedroom Hymns, but for some reason I like it. Originally written in 2018.
> 
> Similar to AVS, it's a bit darker, but in this rewrite I like to think I lightened it up at the end with a little bit of fluff. Enjoy!

Reyes kisses him, and he’s drowning. At least, that’s what it feels like in these first moments of drunken euphoria – tongues tangling together as greedy hands pull on clothing and blindly seek out skin – and Scott’s lost in it. He’s lost in _Reyes_.

The heavy press of his body against own, pushing him up against the cold metal of the wall and shutting out the rest of the world; the heady scent of his cologne, filling his nose and surrounding him in the musky aroma of cedar and leather; the soft rumble of pleasure that occasionally escapes from Reyes’ throat and goes straight to his aching cock; the taste of him – oh god, the _taste _of him.

He tastes like heaven, if heaven tasted like whiskey and cigarette smoke and something that is so inexplicably _Reyes_ he can’t even begin to describe it, and he never wants the kiss to end. A bit selfish perhaps – there’s a galaxy to keep watch over and a port to run, after all – but Scott’s never been able to ignore his own desires, and right now his desire is to get so impossibly close to Reyes he might as well attempt climbing inside of him.

_This_ is where he belongs. Not in some conference room on the Nexus making pleasantries behind barbed smiles, and definitely not on some poster spreading the Initiative’s cheap dreams. No, this is where he belongs. Perhaps where he’s always belonged. At least, that’s what it feels like with Reyes worshipping his body with lips, tongue, and teeth, and showering him in silent devotions that would put even the Pope to shame.

It’s a lie of course, and a pretty one at that, but for now he clings to the notion, the concept of belonging – belonging _somewhere_, belonging to _someone_ – far too enticing to shatter with logic and reason. Deep down he knows he belongs here just as much as he belongs on the bridge of the Tempest, which is arguable even on a good day, but the sentiment is there – right with the lofty ambitions – and he discards the thought just as quickly as he’d discarded Reyes’ jacket twelve seconds ago.

Reyes _good_. Alcohol _good_. Everything else? Can fuck right off until the morning. That’s what the whiskey coursing through his veins is telling him, so he goes with it, chasing after the pleasure with a single-minded focus and shutting out everything else. Which is pretty damn easy with the way Reyes is sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip like it’s a goddamn delicacy.

It’s convenient he’s leaning against the wall, otherwise he’d be somewhere on the ground with the way his knees have abandoned him and his legs have turned to jelly. Hell, being on the ground would probably speed things up a bit, and he’s ready to say just that – as soon as he remembers what language is – but Reyes shifts his position, placing one leg between his own and grinding up, and _fuck_. Stars explode behind his eyelids, and Scott’s gone.

Distantly he hears himself moan, but he doesn’t think much about it. It’s something other, something disconnected from the desire racing through his body like a ship in FTL, and it barely registers on his radar. All he knows is that it gives Reyes more access to his mouth to tease and taste and turn him into a panting puddle of want, so he does it again, parting his lips and urging Reyes to dominate his mouth, to roam and explore as he sees fit.

And he does. Quite readily and enthusiastically, immediately delving inside to lick and suck and stake his claim on the new territory. Not that he hasn’t already. Renewing his claim, perhaps? It doesn’t matter. Scott can’t get enough of it. He can’t get enough of his tongue, his taste, or his ruthless determination. Because that’s what it is. It isn’t a gentle kiss between lovers. It isn’t chaste or sweet; it’s merciless and greedy and overwhelming, and Scott wouldn’t have it any other way. This is their affection. This is their devotion to one another. It isn’t kind. It isn’t tender. It is primal and rough and inherently selfish, but it isn’t about dominance and submission – it’s about giving as good as you get, and Scott’s never been one to back down from any challenge.

He catches Reyes’ tongue in his mouth and sucks, savoring the helpless groan that escapes from Reyes’ mouth and revelling in the way his fingers reflexively tighten on his hip, bruising the skin and claiming another inch of his body.

_Mine_, Reyes’ hands seem to say. _Mine, mine, mine_. They rove freely and without restraint, slipping under the flimsy cotton of his t-shirt and tracing the curves of his chest with the same ruthless determination as his tongue, skimming the expanse and seemingly memorizing the lines of his body, and Scott melts into the touch. Not that he has anywhere else he can go. Not that he’d ever want to, either.

His own hands are savage in comparison. One hand tugs on Reyes’ hair as the other traverses his back, greedily mapping the soft skin with the pads of his fingers and pushing him _closer, closer, closer_. Pushing him until there’s scarcely a millimetre between their bodies and the only oxygen to be had is the oxygen shared between their lungs. Pushing him closer until he can almost feel Reyes’ skin bruising beneath the pressure of his fingertips and creating their own crude signature on his skin.

_Mine_, his hands say. _Mine, mine, mine_. They desperately carve out the words on his skin that his lips cannot – his uncertainty and diffidence turning him mute – but Reyes doesn’t seem to mind. Just like he doesn’t seem to mind the way Scott is devouring his mouth and scarcely allowing either one of them to breathe, his movements becoming increasingly frantic as his blood sings with his desire, pounding in his ears like the beat of a war drum and spurring him on.

He knows he’s made his point when he feels Reyes’ hands disappear from his body and the jingle of their belts follows soon after. There’s a rush of cool air accompanied by the sudden sense of freedom as Reyes roughly pushes down his boxer briefs and takes him in hand, pausing only to smear the precum at the tip with his thumb, and _Christ_. If this isn’t heaven, Scott doesn’t know what the hell is.

He lets out a strangled groan as his head falls back against the wall with a hollow _thud_, so lost in the smooth warmth encompassing his cock and the steady rhythm Reyes has set that he hardly notices the impact. All he knows is that within a few strokes he’s a panting wreck, fingers convulsing and clutching the fabric of Reyes’ shirt as he desperately tries to stave off his rapidly approaching orgasm, and it only takes a few more strokes to realize just how powerless he is to stop it. Because Reyes knows exactly how he likes it, how to stoke the heat in his gut until it’s reached an inferno, and he’s not pulling any punches tonight.

“Oh, fu— Rey—" he stammers, the words ragged and breathless, like he’s just run a marathon and in a way he feels like he has – chest heaving, blood pumping, legs shaking – and somehow those broken syllables translate to ‘go faster’ and Scott’s pretty much done for.

Except it’s not the feeling of Reyes’ nimble fingers stroking him to the brink that threatens to send him toppling over the edge, it’s the breathy chuckle against his neck – laced with satisfaction and the promise of more to come. And then he’s so goddamn close he’s bucking into Reyes’ fist like a goddamn virgin, his entire world shrinking and narrowing to the pressure building in his groin—

Reyes’ hand stills at the tip and squeezes, effectively denying him the pleasure with the same sudden brutality of a headshot, and his moan is transformed into a hissed expletive. He’s on the verge of exploding – body taut as a wire and balls clenched tighter than a nun’s cunt – and Reyes’ hand is a cruel vice around his cock. He bucks against his hand, one last plea for release, one last _Hail Mary_, but Reyes simply nuzzles his neck and coaxes his balls to relax with his free hand.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Reyes murmurs, voice smooth as silk and breath hot against the shell of his ear. “Not nearly.” He catches his earlobe between his teeth and bites down and that’s it, game over. Pain and pleasure meld together in a wave of pure sensation that shoots down his spine like a jolt of electricity, and Scott’s dying a thousand deaths as his brain short-circuits.

“F-f-fuck,” he somehow manages to stutter.

“Soon,” Reyes promises, lazily licking and sucking his way down his arched neck only to start the process all over again when he reaches his collarbone. “Soon,” he repeats, nipping on his earlobe and tracing the curve of his ear with this tongue. “Soon I’ll have you on your knees and begging,” he says, the words a low rumble against his skin, and he finally, _finally_ relaxes his hand.

Not that it does Scott any good. The damage has been dealt, and his orgasm is out of reach, just as Reyes knew it would be. For now at least. Desire is still pounding through his veins like a rampant herd of adhi, chaotic and impossible to ignore, but the frantic need has receded to a dull, pulsating ache, and he doesn’t know if he should be thankful or indignant. His throbbing cock tells him that he ought to be the latter while experience tells him he’ll soon be thanking every known god that he was forced to wait, but Scott’s always been the impatient type – even when he knows he’ll be exponentially rewarded for it later – so he tilts his neck, a sharp rebuttal on his lips, and—

Stops short, his breath hitching as if he’s just been sucker-punched, because Reyes’ eyes are molten gold and devastating. Every complaint he might have had is silenced by the unmasked desire in his eyes, so at odds with the steady tone of his voice that Scott knows it can’t be anything but a mistake, a slip in his seemingly perfect façade of nonchalance, and oh, there goes his indignation, vanishing between one shaky breath and the next.

“Not bloody soon enough,” he growls, roughly tugging on Reyes’ hair and flipping them, pinning him against the wall with his hips and swallowing his soft exclamation of surprise. It turns into a moan, and Scott swallows that, too. He’s always been good in that regard – dreams, pride, cum – but at least with Reyes he can put the skill to good use. And he fully intends to. Because he knows exactly how Reyes likes it, how to stoke the heat in his gut until it’s reached an inferno, and he’s not pulling any punches tonight.

As his tongue goes to work relearning every inch of Reyes’ mouth, he catches Reyes’ hands with one hand and pins them above his head while the other goes to work on his pants. The belt’s already been undone and the fly is halfway unzipped, so all it takes is one sharp tug and they’re past his hips and bunching at his thighs, and Scott has access. He reaches inside Reyes’ underwear with as much ceremony as he yanked down his pants, and when his hand finally wraps around his hot, pulsating cock, they groan in unison.

He buries his face in the side of Reyes’ neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat-soaked skin as Reyes arches into his hand, and has anything ever felt so perfect before? It’s like the final piece of a remnant puzzle slipping into place, foreign and strange and yet somehow _right_, and he savors the feeling just as he savors the inexplicable satisfaction that accompanies it.

“_Scott_,” Reyes pants, breathless and impatient and _needing_, snapping him out of his momentary reverie and spurring him back into action.

Because isn’t that the damnest thing? To be _needed_ by Reyes. Not just wanted (which in itself is a goddamn mystery) but _needed_ – as if he’s something as vital as oxygen or nutrients – and Scott doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. Not really. Good thing he doesn’t have to get used to it to enjoy it, so he casts the thought aside just as quickly as he’d tossed the others, focusing instead on the way Reyes seems to _meld_ into him, fever hot and perfect, the hard lines of his body turned pliant and willing, and Scott can’t deny him any longer. 

He gives Reyes’ cock an experimental stroke – smooth and thick and heavy in the palm of his hand – and he’s rewarded with his name on his lips again, pitched high by his desire and desperation, so Scott does it again and again and _again_. He strokes him until his name becomes a strangled litany on Reyes’ lips, a beautiful mess of consonants and vowels, and he’s drunk on the sound of it.

It’s only when Reyes begins to fight against his hand in earnest that he slows his pace to a teasing caress, enough to frustrate but not enough to push him over the edge, and his name is soon cast aside in favor of a curse, muttered between clenched teeth and just as enticing. Perhaps even more so. Because Reyes’ control is slipping, slipping further and further from his grasp, and Scott can’t get enough of it. He can’t get enough of Reyes’ willing submission, his rare allowance to be anything other than composed, so he continues to taunt and tease, pushing him higher and higher and _higher_ until Reyes’ control is held together by a single thread and on the verge of snapping.

Then he stops.

And waits.

The world quiets and stills around him, seeming to fade from existence, until the only thing he’s aware of are the ragged sounds of their breathing, so loud in the empty corridor, and the smouldering heat of arousal in his gut, stoked hotter by the taste of Reyes’ sweat on his lips and the rapid beat of his pulse beneath the flat of his tongue.

“_Scott_.” It comes out like a command, sharp and unyielding, and he’s powerless to disobey.

He drops to his knees faster than a fifteen credit whore, mouth open and ready like he’s about to accept communion, and in a way he feels likes he is – the experience damn near holy every time – but what does he know about Catholicism? Turns out very little, but that doesn’t matter. Not right now. What matters is the way Reyes is looking down at him, eyes burning with _want_ and _need_ and something else Scott can’t quite put his finger on, only that it makes his chest ache in a good way, so he leans forward and presses his parted lips to Reyes’ glistening tip and—

“_Christ_,” Reyes mutters, voice strangled again because he’s always had a thing for Scott on his knees, and that’s about as much warning as he gets before Reyes is roughly fisting his hair and fucking his mouth, all control lost, and Scott’s drowning again. His lungs cry out for air as his throat convulses around his cock, but he just tries to take him deeper, relishing the solid weight on his tongue and the salty tang of precum as it mingles with his saliva, and he’s lost in him again.

He’s lost the feeling of his cock, stretching his lips impossibly wide and filling his mouth as if it’s always been meant for it. He’s lost in the heady scent of his desire, filling his nose with each violent thrust and surrounding him in the musky, inexplicable aroma that can only be described as _Reyes, _and he’s lost in the soft gasps of pleasure that slip past Reyes’ lips – unawares and unintended – and go straight to his neglected cock.

Not that it stays neglected for long. He blindly reaches down and takes himself in hand, hard as a pistol and aching with need. It’s no longer a battle but a race, and he’s moaning around Reyes’ cock then, the pressure building in his groin as he strokes himself faster and faster and _faster_, and he knows he isn’t going to last long.

“Shit, Scott—I’m—I’m going—” Reyes warns, breathless and on the brink, fingers loosening their grasp and hips stuttering as he attempts to pull free from his mouth, but Scott’s never been a quitter, so he grabs his ass with his unoccupied hand and pushes him closer until his cock is halfway down his throat and Reyes is stiffening beneath his fingertips and—and—

His vision turns white as his ears fill with the deafening roar of his pounding heartbeat, and Scott’s dying for the forth time. At least, that’s what it feels like as he spills into his hand and tastes Reyes on his tongue, and for once he finds he doesn’t mind.

Dying, that is.

But like every other time, he doesn’t stay dead for long. The aftershocks of his orgasm subside and his visions returns along with his hearing and his need to breathe, so he pulls off of Reyes’ softening cock with a vulgar _pop_ and collapses against his naked thigh, panting heavily and not quite trusting himself to stand just yet, but Reyes is reaching down and pulling him up for a lingering kiss, and how can he say no to that? Especially with the way Reyes is softly teasing apart his bruised lips, all gentle like, in a way that has Scott’s legs shaking all over again and has absolutely nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the things they don’t talk about.

Eventually they break apart, the need to right themselves and return to reality overriding their lingering desires. Reyes puts him back together in stages, pulling up his underwear then his pants then fastening his belt with practiced ease before starting on his own. They don’t talk. If Scott leans up against him one last time as they make their way to towards the exit, it’s because he’s tired and not because he wants to remember his scent. If Reyes presses once last kiss to his forehead before they part, it’s because he stumbled, his long hours finally catching up to him, and not because he’s sentimental.

And if Scott calls him as soon as they depart, lonely and already missing him, well. There’s no excuse for that.

But Reyes will never call him out on it because he was just about to make the call himself.


End file.
